


Hell Express

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sloth, envy, lust, greed, gluttony, pride, wrath...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Express

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Hell Express](https://archiveofourown.org/works/276215) by [Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune). 



**Sloth**  
He does his homework quickly. Finishing in a hurry, botched, because he doesn’t care that much about Spanish. He prefers math, drawing or music. When Linc sees the grades a few weeks later (they’re not that bad, they just... don’t meet Michael’s usual standards), he raises his eyebrows and asks him: “So, Mike, what’s your plan B if you can’t get into college? Wanna come and work with me on that building site, downtown?”

 **Envy**  
For years, it has been LincolnAndMichael (almost in a single word). But when LJ is four, Linc playfully tousles his son’s hair and tells Michael he won’t be able to go with him to that thing, on Saturday. He and LJ have already planned something. Michael looks at the kid and for a split second, his feelings towards his nephew aren’t particularly nice – not something he can say out loud. So he smiles and nods and says “I understand, Linc, no problem here.” And it’s almost the truth.

 **Lust**  
Veronica stumbles, holds onto his shoulders so as not to fall, and watches him with a mixture of desire, guilt and indecision. He puts a hand on her elbow and for a few seconds he thinks that maybe both of them are just drunk enough: it would be, if not a valid reason, at least an excuse. These are awfully long seconds. Then his cell phone rings. Linc’s name blinks on the small screen and Michael rewords his thoughts: his brother’s ex-girlfriend has stumbled, held onto his shoulders so as not to fall, and now, he will call her a cab.

 **Greed**  
He leaks his information drop by drop, one clue at a time, only when it is absolutely necessary. A couple of times, they have almost been given too late. A puzzle for Abruzzi, hints for Sucre, tips for Charles, nothing but the bare essentials for T-Bag. When he realizes that even Lincoln doesn’t know all the details of The Plan, he wonders if he’s cautious or just greedy because of the power that knowledge gives him, because, that way, he can control the whole situation.

 **Gluttony**  
There are cookies on Doctor Tancredi’s desk. The wide open packet shows its contents: chocolate chip cookies decorated with delicate sugary spirals. Some crumbs have fallen on the table. It’s been days since he ate something like that. He would never have thought he could salivate so much for a cookie. Without thinking, he stretches out his hand; he can feel Sara’s gaze on him, he can see the needle she’s pointing toward him, and he closes his eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t, huh?”

 **Pride**  
He regrets some of the things he’s done, he regrets he’s hurt people, but he looks at Lincoln, sitting on the wood bridge with his face to the sun, and he thinks the end justifies the means. A few feet away from him and Linc, Sucre, Abruzzi and C-Note are talking. They have their qualities, but he’s not like them. He’s not really a thief or a murderer. The lies, the thefts... It had one purpose only. He can live a regular life. Well... he’s been able to live a regular life, and soon, he’ll again be able to.

 **Wrath**  
Bellick literally gloats when he tells him what has happened to Sara. Wrath has a color, or rather, it has two colors: a red haze that suddenly surrounds him, a white heat that burns in his neck. He strikes, a blind kick, and experiences an indescribable fulfillment when he can feel flesh crushing under his shoe, when he hears a painful groan. He doesn’t know to whom he’s angry at, though: Bellick because of what he said, or himself because of what he’s done.

* * *


End file.
